


Page, Turned

by Butterfly_Beat



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 1, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 07:58:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butterfly_Beat/pseuds/Butterfly_Beat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some day, she’s going to murder the man.  And thanks to his tutelage, she’ll have better than even odds of getting away with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Page, Turned

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jessalae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessalae/gifts).



> I'm going to apologize for this now, in that my familiarity with Elementary isn't quite as awesome as it should be. Hopefully, this works as a slice-of-life - it takes place sometime before Joan becomes Sherlock's true companion.

“Watson!”

Joan sighs, setting down one of the medical journals Sherlock has taken to leaving around the apartment in some kind of psych experiment. She’s going to have to strangle him for it at some point in the next week, and probably sooner rather than later, if she’s honest with herself. Although, the article on Transcatheter Aortic Valve Replacement was kind of interesting. Not that she’ll be sharing that fact.

She should leave him to learn some manners, let him come and find her for a change, but she doesn’t feel like putting that much work into it today. He’s lapsed into one of his obsessive phases over the last few days, and experience says that he’ll just keep shouting at 90 second intervals until she cracks. Her current record is two hours, and that was only with heavy metal blasting in her headphones. It hadn’t been worth the resulting headache.

He’s in the office, tennis ball making regular trips to the wall. “What?”

“Which journal?”

“Excuse me?”

“I could hear the pages turning from across the hall. Which journal? Cardiac, or Forensic?”

She frowns, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Cardiac, then. You practically exude the guilty conscience I should have guessed.” The ball hits the wall, back to his hand. “Three days, twelve hours, nineteen minutes. Not bad, for someone who made compulsive study a habit for such a large part of their life for a decade.”

She takes a deep breath, grits her teeth and waits until the ball makes another circuit before speaking. “Was there something you needed?”

Sherlock cocks his head, studying the seaming along the edge of the window. “No, that was all.”

She’s halfway back to her room when his voice again echoes against the aged wood. “Now that you mention it, Watson, pasta. That place on third with the aged garlic sauce.”

She’s going to murder the man, some day. And thanks to his tutelage, she’ll have better than even odds of getting away with it.


End file.
